


Into the Abyss

by alloutforthewar



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-07
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-05-18 18:58:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5939656
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alloutforthewar/pseuds/alloutforthewar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somehow, she thinks this might be the hardest conversation she’s ever had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into the Abyss

**Author's Note:**

> Written for leiascully's XF Writing Challenge. Prompt: Sound.

“Mulder,” she starts, her hands twisting in her lap. It’s dark outside, and freezing, and unexpectedly she’s second guessing herself, feeling like an idiot, like she’s losing her mind. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t sleep. I’m not sleeping so well at the moment, and I suddenly felt as if I had to see you right away. So here I am.” 

The leather on his couch creaks as she shifts her weight, feeling awkward suddenly as she tries to decide what to say. Somehow, she thinks this might be the hardest conversation she’s ever had. 

“It’s usually you calling me at two in the morning,” she murmurs. She’s met with heavy silence, an oppressive stillness, and she feels she could almost be in a vacuum, a black hole of need with him at the centre. 

_Rip it off like a band aid, she thinks._

“Mulder, I’m pregnant. I don’t… I don’t know how.” She huffs sadly, looking down at her feet. “I mean, I do know how. I just…” She takes a deep breath. “I wanted you to know, I guess.” 

Behind closed eyes she is hyperaware of every sound in his apartment. The filter in the tank starts up and bubbles furiously for several seconds. A branch is tapping on the window in his bedroom. The fridge is humming quietly. Her own breaths seem magnified, resounding, as though they’re echoing inside her brain. 

She inhales deeply and looks up, looks over to the other side of the couch, his side, and of course there’s nothing there. It’s empty. Because he’s gone. He’s gone and she’s pregnant and his apartment is so quiet and she just wants to scream at him, at Skinner, at Billy Miles and Marita fucking Covarrubias. 

Instead she’s mortified to feel two tracks of tears slip down her cheeks, and she swipes at them furiously, refusing to be helpless, refusing to feel weak when she knows he needs her to be strong. 

“Mulder,” she whispers, and she can practically see her words disappearing before her, “I’m going to find you.”


End file.
